


Productivity day

by orphan_account



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Blood, Gen, Teeth, graphic descriptions of smugness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 17:00:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17964500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Kevin does a semi-hostile takeover of his own radio station and no one stops him. His new intern perishes due to a freak accident that no one could have prevented. Set in Desert Bluffs 2.This fic is mostly monologue - read it as if it's an episode of the podcast! It also ends abruptly because the wind went out of me. I might do more of these and add them as chapters, but knowing me and my writing style I'll probably never revisit this work again and then orphan it in a year, so good luck.





	Productivity day

“Good morning, Desert Bluffs, and what a _brilliant_ morning it is! Now, I know what you’re thinking; “But Kevin, this is way too early for you to start your show! We were having so much fun listening to the night broadcast of barely-audible beeping from another room, sneaking its way into our subconscious, leaking through our thoughts until we’re not sure if it’s a temporary case of tinnitus, or if it’s a fire alarm somewhere in the neighborhood, or if maybe someone’s car is being broken into? You know, that beeping that seems to be the exact frequency of a mosquitobuzz? Too low to pinpoint a source but loud enough to fill our stomachs with increasing, irrational panic?” And yes, I hear you, but here’s the thing- I woke up in such a good mood! That beautiful dream we all share about the suicidal birds started early last night, so I got a long night of good rest and woke up earlier than usual, and I figured, hey! Might as well go to work! It’s not like anyone can stop me!”

Kevin snickered. Reminding himself of his own power always made him snicker. He lifted his coffee cup, leaving a ring of coagulated blood behind, and took a long, satisfied, morning-host sip. The windchime he had made out of scavenged bird bones tinkled pleasantly in his open window, letting in all that dusty desert air.

“Now, as we all know, productivity is really key when you want to stay happy. Take me, for example; clocking in early at the radio station put a big smile on my face! Crushing my coffee, boiling it, and force-feeding it to that raccoon who got stuck behind the station dumpster last week made me smile even wider! And wouldn’t you know it, the second I sat down in this chair and touched the microphone to my lips, I smiled so widely and sincerely that the doorframe started cracking! Whoever is out there right now, listening to my voice, I trust you are going to feel the same. The only problem with having a super-productive day is- you guessed it- all those _people_ and _responsibilities_ and-” he groaned for comedic effect, “needs that distract us throughout the day. Well, Desert Bluffs, I found a solution! Today, why don’t we all just... Take a moment to ourselves and our work. Barricade the door to your office, dig a moat around the building, fill that moat with terrifying whale sharks (that are not actually dangerous but look like predatory aquatic vacuum cleaners), and just work. No other people, no other noise. Turn the radio on and go at it! I know I will! In fact, I’ve spent the last hour boarding up every exit to the radio station with the help of my new intern, James. How are you doing out there, James?”

Kevin turned his head to look out the window of his recording booth, and was surprised to see James clawing his fingernails out against the glass. His mouth and eyes were gaping, his skin blueish and shiny with sweat, and with the blood of his own ripped-apart nailbeds he had written “ria” on the glass. Kevin scratched his head. “What’s that? Ria? Who’s Ria, James? You know, all that gaping and clawing really doesn’t give you a good first-day-of-work impression. Smile! You did a really good job making the studio air-tight this morning!”

He turned back to the mic.

“This is where I would normally give you the news, listeners, but it’s barely 5am, so not much has happened yet. Hmm…” he scrolled through his emails, looking for something to report on. Most of his inbox was just spam, like “The loan of a lifetime is waiting for you!” or “Americans everywhere are getting rich with this one, simple trick!” or “Oh god, please stop the screaming, why won’t it end, I scrubbed out my eardrums but the screams won’t go away,” and so forth. Then it came to him, and he swiveled his head back to the microphone. “I know! Let’s do some advice! This is a completely new segment, so for now, let’s just call it… “Dear Kevin”. Here is the first one, sent in just last night!” he cleared his throat.

“ _Dear Kevin. I have a very small mouth because of my genetics, and it’s making it hard to smile as wide as I want to! I’ve been thinking of going under the knife to get the beam I’ve always wanted, but my friends tell me I can just accentuate my natural smile with a bit of overlining lipstick and teeth removal. What do you think I should do? Signed, desperate in the desert.”_  
A shaking _boom_ rung out through the studio, and Kevin saw James on the other side of the glass, now resorting to banging his head against the triple-layered, soundproofed plexiglass. He went on.  
“Well well, Desperate, that certainly is a conundrum! On one hand, having to line your lips and pull your teeth every morning can get really tedious. On the other hand, though, plastic surgery can be expensive. If you will allow me to get personal for a moment here, I did actually “go under the knife” as you put it several years ago, and I’ve never regretted it! Of course my situation was less “plastic surgery” and more “forceful physical violence by a menacing conglomerate who I did not yet know would be my salvation”, but I think the result would be the same. I say, save up that money! An eternal smile is worth it. Also, you could get thrown out of town for not smiling, sooo… Maybe make a teeny tiny bit of effort for once in your life.”  
Another _boom_ , and this time it was followed by a dulled crack, like twigs breaking under cotton. Kevin looked at the spectacle from the corner of his eye, struggling to keep his voice normal as he watched a large, scarlet blob form where James’s forehead had connected.  
“Ah, uhm, let’s do another! This one was sent in to me just now, and it reads: " _Dear Kevin. I took your suggestion and boarded up my workplace. I want to stay anonymous so I won’t say where I work, but let’s just say it rhymes with schmitty mall, winky face. Anyway, everyone here is being such a buzzkill! It’s all “please let me out” and “I need to use the bathroom” and “I have a wife and children”, and their complaining is not letting me be as productive as I want to be! Please help! Signed-_ ” oh, uh… That one is just signed anonymous, listeners.”  
It wasn’t signed anonymous. It was signed “fuck you and your noise”. You can’t say that on air.  
“Well, anonymous, here is what I would do: let them go! Let them go out the door, out of the workplace, out of life. They clearly don’t want you to succeed, and even worse, they don’t even seem to want to be happy! Remember; your joy is not theirs to take away. If you have to get physical in order to retain happiness, then you are in the right. And now-” but he was interrupted by the third (and final) act of the James-versus-window fight, as James finally conceded and dropped to the floor, leaving behind barely cracked glass and a lot of blood. That was… A _lot_ of blood. Kevin looked around at the flaking walls of his studio and decided it could use a fresh coat of paint. Also, he was getting hungry. Funny. The only reason he even had an intern was to fetch him lunch. Now it looked like his intern might be lunch.  
“Listeners, I have something urgent to deal with. Why don’t I take you to this pre-recorded sponsored ad.”  
  
He didn’t know how long his redecorating work would take, so he set the ad to play at a loop before removing his headset and sauntering over to the now-cracked glass pane. James lay in a crumpled heap just below it. Kevin could not see his face, but stayed there for a minute and a half, making absolutely sure there was no remnant of breath in his intern’s body, and then he opened the door. Carbon dioxide-laden air surged into his studio and out the only open window in this entire building. He looked at the glass from this side, and saw that it said “air”, not “ria”. That was a bit stupid. Kevin _knew_ he was on air. Still, spilled milk and all that. He grabbed his intern by the foot and pulled his heavy corpse into the recording booth, all the while the pre-recorded ad played:

 **Is your computer running slow? Files cluttering your desktop? Cookies and caches clogging up the delicate cogs of your browser? Is it slow? Is it agonizingly slow? Tired? Are you tired, too? Does the poor condition of your laptop motivate you to clean it up every now and then despite your absolute refusal to fix your own life? Do the icons and loading wheels turn into an undeniable symbolism of your very own existence, making you uneasy every second you spend in front of that screen, glowing brighter than your future ever will? Can your depression be compressed into a jpeg, do you think?**  
**There will be a point in your life where rubbing your eyes no longer helps delete the images in your mind. There will be a point, maybe soon, where the tip-tap-trickle of emotion that you struggle to keep at bay in public will turn into a problem, it will break from its cocoon into a horrible dragonfly, and the sadness that you insist is just irritation will show itself to be a tsunami of anger. This sadness is not one you can hide between your chrome tabs. Schrodinger has no territory here; everything definitely exists even when you don’t look at it, and terrifying as it might be, that includes your feelings. You need to wake up. You need to feel this.**  
**Is your wifi fast enough? Is your operating system up to date? I saw you last night. I watched you take your stationary computer apart and clean each little piece with a q-tip. You bought compressed air in a can when you could have gotten groceries, and you used it to blow the dust off your graphics card. I saw you. You need to turn around; you need to see me in return, you need to put your things down, you need to stop telling your teacher that everything is okay. You’re dying. You know you’re dying. You need to face this. I can help you face this.**

  
**Microsoft - eat fresh!**

James had a fake rib, now hung with his real ribs around the ceiling lamp. James had exactly 5 liters of blood in him, now coloring the walls and floor and ceiling and desk. James had a lot of teeth. Like, _a lot_. They were all in a mug at his desk now, in case Kevin got peckish. He returned to the microphone and saw two things; the ad had played exactly 26 times, and his answering machine was glowing.  
“Hello, Desert Bluffs! Sorry for that little interruption. To the family and friends of former intern James Mallard; he was not the best intern, but he deserved better than the freak accident that took his life. Then again, James did not really have any family or friends of any note, so… Let’s keep going! I hope you are all being as productive as I am right now!”


End file.
